


Rose Tyler: Defender of the Metacrisis

by Jem (allonsymous)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bad Wolf Bay, Comfort, F/M, Hotel, Love, Panic Attack, TenToo - Freeform, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsymous/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Rose Tyler and Tentoo spend their first night on Pete's World.  Rose tries to come to terms with her new life, and Tentoo struggles with guilt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ficlet. It was fun to write. A good challenge. My headcanon has always been that Rose fully understood that Tentoo was the Doctor, and not some sort of clone. She was able to accept that Ten was Nine after the regeneration, and I think this went the same way in her head, only more quickly, because she'd experienced it before. Same man, new face. Well, new everything!

Rose closed the hotel room door behind her and stepped through the short, narrow rectangle of entry space—a door to the en suite on the right, the open closet on the left—and into the modest sleeping area beyond. A single bed with a dated pink and teal floral bedspread, a pair of faded wicker chairs by a small round table in front of the window. It looked out over the bay.

She set her purchases on the bed and walked over to the window, looking out. They were a ways away from where it happened, but she could still barely see it—the vague shape of the rock formations huddled defensively around that little pocket of beach. She could imagine the Tardis there, in the distance, a smudge of blue on the sand. She could picture it again, fading from view, only this time from that far off, detached location. She imagined three tiny specs—the three people who had been left behind. Her mum, the metacrisis, and herself.

Her chest began to burn angrily and she pulled the curtains closed with a fierce slash of her arms.

She kicked off her boots and peeled off her blue leather jacket, sitting on the edge of the bed. Just sitting. Staring at the three square feet of blank wall that separated the dingy pink carpet from the bottom of the windowsill. Events kept replaying themselves over and over in her mind, as they do when something happens that tears you so viciously from the path you’re on and tosses you out into the middle of the wilderness without so much as a deer trail to follow. That moment, that instant when a hard fact is born from mere possibility, and there’s no going back.

She touched her lips at the memory. That kiss. That was her moment. The moment every door on that beach slammed shut except one, and the last open door was leading her away from the Tardis, away from the Doctor in brown. Before she even had a moment to recognize it for what it was, the blue box was fading away, leaving her for the last time.

The door to the en suite opened and the metacrisis Doctor stepped softly into the room. She could feel the warmth radiating from the open door behind her, and the moisture heavy air that breathes out to the adjacent spaces after someone’s had a shower. A waft of generic hotel soap and shampoo reached her nose—that undefined fragrance universally recognized as “fresh”. She turned on the bed so that one leg was resting under her, the other still hanging off the side. Looking his way, she gave him a small, tense smile. His hair was damp and ruffled looking, and his face was reddened by the hot water. He was wrapped in nothing but a towel, and was looking a bit uncomfortable as he scratched at the back of his neck and avoided eye contact.

“You’re back,” was all he said.

“Yeah.” She reached for one of the bags she had brought back from the shop and tossed it to him. “Got you some clothes. Hope they fit. Wasn’t really sure what size to get.”

He caught the bag deftly with a little smile. “Thanks. I’ll just…” he gestured to the en suite, then disappeared inside, emerging a few minutes later in a gray t-shirt and black drawstring lounge shorts. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Rose. She felt the mattress sink under his weight, the shifting landscape pulling her in his direction slightly. She adjusted her position and looked at him.

The tension in the room was breath-crushing. It was like having her heart squeezed in a cider press. She felt a swell of panic in her chest as her heart rate increased. Was she having a panic attack? She pushed the feeling down with a deep breath. She had to get out of this room before she suffocated, grasping at something—anything—to break the silence. “Right… well, looks like they’ll do then.”

“Yeah, fit’s good. Thanks, Rose. Bit more comfy than…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Right,” she said quickly, “Yes, well, I’m off to have my shower. I’ll just be a bit.” He nodded wordlessly and looked away as she grabbed her other shop bags and disappeared into the en suite, pulling the door shut behind her. After a moment of hesitation, she locked the door.

She sat in the shower for as long as she felt she could without making the Doctor too anxious. Much of the tension in her neck and shoulders slowly eroded under the gentle beating of the hot water—as hot as she could stand. When she felt more relaxed, she stood and washed her hair and skin thoroughly, scrubbing her face twice to clear away her makeup. She turned off the shower and dried herself with the crisp, white hotel towel, then rummaged in her shop bag for her own last minute clothes purchase. Finally, dressed in a pair of pink lounge pants and white tee, her yellow hair twisted up in a towel, she came back out to the bedroom to find the Doctor stretched out on the bed, back against the headboard, ankles crossed, watching a nature show with the sound off. He glanced at her and smiled. “Hey you. Better?”

“Much better.” She replied truthfully. Carrying her shop bag to the bed, she reached in and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a package of plastic cups. “I don’t know about you, but after the day we’ve had, I think we deserve a drink.”

“Righty-oh.” He massaged the back of his neck with one hand as he clicked the power button on the remote. The picture on the telly disappeared, replaced with a wall of black.

Rose unwrapped the cups and bottle, pouring three fingers for the Doctor first, then for herself. She screwed the cap back on and set it on the nightstand, then crawled carefully into the bed, stretching out next to the Doctor and taking a large gulp, squeezing her face into a tight, pinched grimace as it burned her esophagus on the way down. The Doctor watched her for a moment, then followed her example, expelling a small wheezy cough.

“Not top shelf, then,” he said with a little laugh in his voice.

“Not exactly, no. Funds were limited.” She smirked, swirling her cup, enjoying the pleasant warmth in her chest far more than the aftertaste of varnish in her mouth.

“You know, I’m not sure how this body’s going to like alcohol. It never bothered me much before, but part human… I might actually become intoxicated. I mean maybe. Possibly. Who knows?”

“That’s something I’d love to see. The Doctor, three sheets to the wind. Maybe I’d finally live down my Myzarxy 5 incident.”

“Ooooh, you’ll never live that one down. Not possible.”

“It’s not my fault! They didn’t tell me what I was drinking, and it was so lovely.”

The Doctor grinned. “Not as lovely as you were after drinking it.”

She couldn’t help but giggle then. “Oh right, retching my guts out over the railing of the Ulah Falls Bridge. I bet I was gorgeous.” She drained her cup and set it on the nightstand next to the bottle.

“Well, I wasn’t really thinking of that part… I was thinking about when we danced. The canopy of stars, the orange flicker of the bonfire, and you, Rose Tyler, dancing with me, hair flying about as you whirled around, laughing through that beautiful smile, pink cheeks glowing brighter with the effects of… well, anyway. You’re always beautiful. Even when retching. Though I am sorry it had to end that way.” He chewed the inside of his lip uncomfortably, then tossed back the rest of his drink.

“Well, things don’t always end the way we expect, I suppose,” she said softly. Immediately she wished she could have taken her words back. She glanced at him. He was staring at his hands, brow creased, looking for all the world like he’d just been slapped. He worked his jaw, then let out a heavy sigh.

“Rose, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I…” His voice grew thick and he stopped, clenching his hand into a tight fist.

Rose reached over and covered his hand with her own. “What for, Doctor?” The question sounded genuine, but carried a tone that indicated he had nothing to apologize for.

“I know you wanted to be with him. To stay in the Tardis. I got in the way. Really gummed up the works, didn’t I?”

“Doctor, I’m not angry with you. I'm angry with him.”

He looked up at her, eyes glistening with moisture as tears threatened. “I am him.”

“But you're also you. _You_ chose to stay.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He chose to leave. And not only that, he chose to run. He ran so fast, he didn’t even say goodbye.” Her voice hitched at those last words, and a tear ran down her face. It had hurt more than any pain she had ever experienced, and hearing herself say it out loud felt like a crushing blow to the chest. The Doctor dropped his empty cup and reached over to wipe her cheek, a tear of his own escaping. She leaned into his touch. “How could I be angry with you when you're the one who gave up everything— _everything!_ —just to be with me?”

“What I gave up was nothing compared to staying with you, Rose. _You are everything._ ”


End file.
